


The Shadows Will Inherit

by yaakov



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, hint of Shireen Baratheon/Devan Seaworth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:12:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3257870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaakov/pseuds/yaakov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stannis prepares for war from Dragonstone. One evening, his daughter requests an audience with the king. Set just before A Clash of Kings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shadows Will Inherit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [got-exchange](http://got-exchange.livejournal.com/) many moons ago.

King Stannis sat alone, staring at the fire. His red hawk had left him, gone to fly among the people for an hour. She’d insisted he go, too. It was imperative that his people see their king’s devotion to the Lord of Light. Lady Melisandre had been persuasive – too persuasive. Her mistake had been offering him pleasure, and as Stannis repeated to himself, he would never disgrace himself for pleasure.  
  
 _Pleasure_. Stannis scowled. The Stone Drum was anything but pleasant. It was cold and damp, and the crashing waves were harsh and unrelenting. The warmth had departed with his red lady, leaving Stannis’s mind dangerously clear. Justice is cold, as is logic. There’s nothing like warmth and comfort to dull the mind, lull it into complacency. As Stannis stared, the flames danced seductively. He could have sworn he saw her naked shape.  
  
The door creaked heavily open.  
  
“Do not disturb me."  
  
“His Grace does not wish to be disturbed,” said a muffled voice.  
  
“But he’s my father. I wish to speak with him.”  
  
“My Lady, His Grace gave very clear orders-“  
  
“Send her in,” Stannis gritted out, clenching his jaw. If the last person he wanted to see was his wife, then the second-to-last was his daughter. But as a father, he had a duty to his children, and without any sons, this duty passed to Shireen. The image in the flames danced through his mind, and he shut his eyes.  
  
The nervous guard cleared his throat. “Your Grace, the Princess Shireen."  
  
After a few quiet steps, the door clanged shut. Stannis sat in silence, avoiding the flames and his heir. Slowly, he turned towards the girl. Their eyes met, and she quickly looked at her feet.  
  
“Look me in the eye,” he growled. “Never turn away when someone looks at you. It shows weakness.”  
  
Cautiously, Shireen raised her eyes. Her long, thick black hair hung straight against her pale face. With her ears covered, it was hard to imagine Selyse Florent as her mother. Her eyes were deep-set and blue, colored like the evening sky. With her large, stubborn jaw, she would’ve never been pretty. She looked startlingly like her father at a young age, but for the mottled grey skin covering half her face.  
  
“What is it?” Stannis snapped.  
  
“I just thought – something’s bothering me, Your Grace.” She mumbled and averted her eyes.  
  
“What  _is_  it? And if you won’t look at me, I won’t speak with you.”  
  
Shireen looked up, this time with a dull flash of irritation. “Father, if you win the war-“  
  
“If? I will win. The throne is mine.”  
  
“But you haven’t won it yet.” She flushed, her voice trembling.  
  
Stannis stared. No one dared speak like this – none but Ser Davos, who’d earned rights to honesty. Here stood this ugly little girl, voicing the fears that haunted him. He almost turned away, but Shireen held his gaze, a fierce sort of fear in her young eyes.  
  
“Say what you mean. I will not indulge you for being my daughter. Speak plainly, or get out.”  
  
"A king's eldest child is his heir. I am your eldest, so one day, I will be queen."  
  
An elementary proof, Stannis noted. Maester Cressen would have taught her basic logic, as he’d once taught Stannis.  
  
“Patchface could’ve told you that. Why are you bothering me?”  
  
“Because you – you’ll make my match. You’ll decide who becomes king.”  
  
Stannis ground his teeth.  
  
“If I had a son, I wouldn’t need to choose a king.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Shireen whispered.  
  
“Never apologize. You’ll defer to no one when you rule, understand?”  
  
“A queen defers to her husband, Your Grace.”  
  
“What do you want, Shireen? You want me to draft your marriage proposal? I’m preparing for war. Has your mother kept you so sheltered that you haven’t noticed?” He waved a hand. “Leave. Next time you’re worried, talk to your mother. I have no time for this.”  
  
“But mother lies! She’s –“ The girl bit her lip and pressed on. “She thinks just because I’m a princess, men will want to marry me.”  
  
“They will. Some men will do anything for power.”  
  
“But Father, those aren’t the sort you want for king! Men like my late uncle, who filled the land with bastards. They’ll marry me for the crown, and then – “ Shireen’s voice dropped. “They’ll want a pretty woman, I’m sure of it.”  
  
Stannis narrowed his eyes.  
  
“Which worries you more, Shireen: a loveless marriage, or an unclear line of succession?”  
  
“Both,” she blushed. “One leads to the other...no?”  
  
The hearth suddenly overflowed, filled with a noisy burst of flames.  _A loveless marriage...a pretty woman...._  Not all men sought such things. Some men did their duty, regardless of their wives’ plainness. The fire roared again, and Stannis looked away. He knew what he’d find dancing in the flames.  
  
“You’re much like me, I fear.”  
  
“I don’t take your meaning, Father.” The orange glare was lurid against Shireen’s pale skin, and the greyscale was a shadow’s hand creeping up her face.  
  
“Love comes easily to some. Your late uncle, for instance. Robert was a drunken buffoon, but everyone loved him. Much of it’s charm, but good looks certainly play their part. Ro–“  
  
“Like Hanny?”  
  
“Who?” Stannis snapped, peeved that anyone would interrupt his monologue.  
  
“Hanny the kitchen maid. She’s quite dull, but so pretty that everyone loves her.”  
  
“Similar, but we’re speaking of kings, not kitchen maids.” Stannis shook his head. “It will be difficult for men to love you, so you must hold yourself to a higher standard. You must be dutiful, beyond reproach. They’ll despise you for faults they forgive in others. If you find even one true friend, consider yourself lucky.”  
  
“As you do for Ser Davos? You trust him over anyone. That’s what Devan says.” Shireen bit her lip again.  
  
“Devan, hm? A good lad.”  
  
“He is, Father. We get along quite well.” She tugged at her hair.  
  
“Devan looks much like his father.”  
  
“I hadn’t considered it.” Shireen’s nose wrinkled, and Stannis couldn’t help smirking.  
  
“Leave me, daughter. You’ve said quite enough.”  
  
“Bu-“  
  
“You’ve made your worries clear. Go on. Your mother will be looking for you.”  
  
Shireen nodded, backing to the door. She made a quick little bow. “I’ll remember what you said, Father. I always do.” With a clumsy curtsy, she dashed out.  
  
His daughter left him in silence. Stannis preferred not to think of Shireen. She was an ugly reminder of how little belonged to him. The whole kingdom was his, but all he truly had was a rock in the sea and this little girl. This little girl – who would never be loved, never be wanted – would inherit all he secured in this war. How long would the Seven Kingdoms suffer such a loathsome dynasty?  
  
He snorted. And what could make this worse but marrying Shireen to a smuggler's son? It would be almost fitting.  
  
The air had grown considerably warmer. As Stannis watched, the fire grew stronger, very steadily. It grew as she approached. The red lady would be there in moments, whether or not he turned her away. She would come too close, all the while murmuring that with her god, he would win. She saw it in the flames.  
  
The shadows grew dark, erratic, dancing with the glowing fire. Stannis glanced down, and his teeth clenched. His hands, in shadow, were grey. They were bony, mottled, half-dead hands. He thought of his daughter's face, and he wondered who would inherit his kingdom.


End file.
